This is my inaugural post. It's a Saturday night and I'm sitting at home, feeling shitty. I can't remember the last happy Saturday night I had. I know others have it worse, I know I should be grateful for all the crap in my closet and in my fridge and cabinets but any way you slice it, my life sucks. It doesn't make me feel better that others have it as bad or worse.
I'm writing this blog as a way of finding the light at the end of what feels like an endless tunnel. That I have constantly dig. That I have no clue which direction I'm digging in. I'm hoping writing will help me work through what seem like problems with no solutions. At the very least, I'm hoping for kinship in my audience. Misery loves company, I suppose.
I'm also writing this because I have really started to fucking hate Facebook and Instagram and all the shiny, pretty blogs, where everyone documents their amazing, perfect lives. I'm a jealous asshole. Sorry, I can't help it. I know no one's life is "perfect" and most things people post are just happy snippets from otherwise-normal lives. My animal brain can't help but feel sad. I can't over-ride it and it just makes me mad. I used to have a shiny, pretty blog about stupid shit like the new shoes I bought or tips on how to make a decoration for a Valentine's Day dinner or how to get my hair to have extra body. I'll admit it--I felt superior when I was posting these things; deep down I knew I was gloating. It didn't matter that my life sucked a lot of the time. I felt in control when I was posting about my life and curating it to seem perfect to other people. It's really not okay. It's stupid and cheap.
I'm going to document an average, rather unhappy life here. Some of the things are my own doing but some of the things just sort of happened to me and I always end up asking the universe, "Why?"
For example, why is my mother losing her mind? Why did that have to happen? I'm her only child and we were/are super-close. Four years ago, I noticed that something weird was up. She forgot what day of the week it was. She would say bizarre things or have inappropriate reactions to things. All of this culminated in her giving away $30,000 from her bank account to some herbal doctor within five minutes of meeting him. $30,000 of her hard-earned savings (she doesn't have much money and this was a lot to her). When I asked her why, she couldn't say. She said she was confused and didn't want to die soon so she could spend more time with me.
I won't get into the heartbreak of this stupid $30,000 incident but I just don't understand. My Mother is relatively young--66. Given all the other stupid shit in my life, couldn't she just have been given health and long life? I feel as though the universe is constantly attempting to isolate me.
I'm writing this blog as a way of finding the light at the end of what feels like an endless tunnel. That I have constantly dig. That I have no clue which direction I'm digging in. I'm hoping writing will help me work through what seem like problems with no solutions. At the very least, I'm hoping for kinship in my audience. Misery loves company, I suppose.
I'm also writing this because I have really started to fucking hate Facebook and Instagram and all the shiny, pretty blogs, where everyone documents their amazing, perfect lives. I'm a jealous asshole. Sorry, I can't help it. I know no one's life is "perfect" and most things people post are just happy snippets from otherwise-normal lives. My animal brain can't help but feel sad. I can't over-ride it and it just makes me mad. I used to have a shiny, pretty blog about stupid shit like the new shoes I bought or tips on how to make a decoration for a Valentine's Day dinner or how to get my hair to have extra body. I'll admit it--I felt superior when I was posting these things; deep down I knew I was gloating. It didn't matter that my life sucked a lot of the time. I felt in control when I was posting about my life and curating it to seem perfect to other people. It's really not okay. It's stupid and cheap.
I'm going to document an average, rather unhappy life here. Some of the things are my own doing but some of the things just sort of happened to me and I always end up asking the universe, "Why?"
For example, why is my mother losing her mind? Why did that have to happen? I'm her only child and we were/are super-close. Four years ago, I noticed that something weird was up. She forgot what day of the week it was. She would say bizarre things or have inappropriate reactions to things. All of this culminated in her giving away $30,000 from her bank account to some herbal doctor within five minutes of meeting him. $30,000 of her hard-earned savings (she doesn't have much money and this was a lot to her). When I asked her why, she couldn't say. She said she was confused and didn't want to die soon so she could spend more time with me.
I won't get into the heartbreak of this stupid $30,000 incident but I just don't understand. My Mother is relatively young--66. Given all the other stupid shit in my life, couldn't she just have been given health and long life? I feel as though the universe is constantly attempting to isolate me.
